c o u n tdown
by u t o p i o
Summary: .and he knew, but he didn’t want it to end. not like that. roxas ccentric


_and he knew, but he didn't want it to end. not like that._

c o u n t.down

r o **x** a s

_13_

And this was _his_ number—number thirteen, the Key of Destiny. He knew it was important, his number and his title, but he really didn't give a damn either way. They could take all that away, and he'd still long to know why; whywhy_why_. He knew that one day, the little charade Xemnas had built would all come crumbling down at his feet, and he defiantly didn't want to be just a victim in his stupid little game. What he didn't know was that if he did leave, he would be just that—a victim in DiZ's stupid little game.

_12_

And it was basic math; he learned it in the first grade—twelve months equaled one year. One year before Sora woke up. One year before he remembered the heartless and Axel and one year before he would have to give up the half of heart he kept from Sora. He knew, way deep in his subconscious, that it was coming, _tick-tock-tick_, like clockwork. What he didn't know was how much it would hurt to leave everything—and every_one_—behind.

_11_

And to him, eleven wasn't eleven, it was a set of two ones—1 and 1. One plus one. Again, it was simple math, easier than twelve months in a year and seven days in a week. One and one. Eleven. When he stood next to Axel, sat side by side on the clock tower with him and the sunset and the sea-salt ice cream that Axel hated—but—no—wait—i—think—I'm—starting—to—like—it—now, they were eleven. A very lopsided eleven, sure, but eleven all the same. What Roxas knew was that being an eleven felt a lot better than being thirteen, that was for sure. What he didn't know was that after a rainy confrontation in the World that Never Was and an emotionless confession from one spiky haired red head that the sandy blonde would never hear, he and Axel would never be eleven again, but rather just one and one.

_10_

And during the time that he was _Roxas, damnit, not Sora,_ he defeated hundreds upon hundreds of Heartless with gentle yet forceful swings of his keyblades, Oathkeeper and Oblivion. His fingers, all 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 of them, curled around the handles of the blades, black gloved and sticky with trapped sweat. _Why_ was the question constantly on his mind. _Why_ did the keyblade choose him, of all people? _Why_ did he not have any memories of his Somebody, not a single, fleeting thought or action or _anything_ he knew was not his. What he knew from sometime in the middle of him being in Organization XIII was that eventually, ultimately, he would leave. What he didn't know was that leaving wouldn't affect _just_ him, like he'd planned, but rather cause a chain—effect that would cause those who he didn't even know cared to care—those he didn't even know _could_ care, to care.

_9_

And when he closed his eyes and focused on the sunset when he sat of the clock tower with Axel and sea-salt ice cream, he could hear the distant sounds of waves from the beach he knew he would never see. It was a melancholy thing, he knew—the beach was _right there_; if he craned his neck far enough at the right angle, he could see the sparkle of the ocean's surface for a fleeting second, but he didn't want to go because Axel, as he had so poetically put it, _fucking _hated_ water and anything even closely_ _resembling water so don't even think about trying to get me near it, got it mem-ori_-zed? And Roxas had laughed a hollow laugh that wasn't real because _he_ wasn't real and it gave him such a headache thinking about it that he just stopped and stared out into the sunset again, for the ninth time that evening. What Roxas knew was that there was no way he was going to get Axel to that beach because, yeah, Roxas was stubborn, but Axel was way stubborn_er_ and _no_ mean _no_, got it memorized? And besides—he'd get that stubborn red head there one day, he knew. What he didn't know was that no, he would not get Axel to the beach because soon, Roxas would forget all about Axel who was supposedly his best friend and he wouldn't feel the slightest hint of remorse or repentance and then he'd wonder if maybe, just _maybe_, they really weren't best friends at all…

_8_

And The Sandlot was probably his _least_ favorite place in all of Twilight Town, solely because every time he passed it, _they_ were there—Hayner and Pence and Olette and Fuujin and Seifer and Raijin and Vivi. _Every single time_, there were there, and soon began to wonder if it was some kind of divine punishment from above, punishment for existing when he definitely wasn't supposed to. Sure, he had Axel, and sure, Axel could be great company, but Axel was a Nobody, too, and couldn't understand… he just couldn't. And so his jealousy of the Twilight Town kids grew and grew until he hate hate _hated_ them, just because the _existed_ and _felt_ and had each other. It was the life Roxas dreamed about, and it was within his grasp, but his fingers couldn't hold it. He knew that he wanted to be _there_ more than he wanted to be with Axel, with the other Nobodies. What he didn't know was that soon enough, the _seven_ would turn to _eight_ and Axel would be fighting oh, so hard to get his best friend back.

_7_

And before he knew it, or didn't know it, there were seven days left—seven days of summer, seven days of Hayner, Pence, Olette, seven days of Twilight Town and the Struggle Tournament and fighting with Seifer and wondering about that old mansion on the edge of town. Seven days. Seven big, empty, white squares on his calendar. He knew it wouldn't be long until it was over—it'd fly by in a flash, and he'd reminisce with his three best friends. What he didn't know was that in seven days, he would no longer _be_.

_6_

And when they heard the train fly by over their heads, and when they heard the clock tower's bell ring six times, ring_ring_ring _ring_ring_ring_, they knew it was time to go home. It was getting late. He knew it was getting late, but he couldn't help the feeling in his gut as the days came and went, all ending the same way, and his throat itched and he wanted to scream; _wait, I don't have much time left—let's make more memories…!_ What he didn't know was why he wanted to scream those words. They had all the time in the world… didn't they?

_5_

And almost everyday, it was Hayner and Seifer; Seifer and Hayner, always going at it, fists and angry words flying without a second though or a hint of remorse. Their record was five—five fights in one day, a day he remembered well, not because of the fact that if it weren't for him, Hayner would be beaten and broken and bruised every day of the week, but because of the fact that he was the one who broke up all of their fights, which usually resulted in both of them getting their asses kicked by Seifer's bodyguard and brick wall, Raijin. He knew that if that kept up, he'd end up turning purple from all of his bruises, as well as Hayner, and he'd voice that thought and his gang would laugh. What he didn't know was that if he wasn't there, if he hadn't have shown up, the same exact thing would've happened, in regards to Hayner turning purple with so many bruises, both to his body and to his ego.

_4_

And after a hard days work of hanging out in the usual spot or up on the station tower, the Twilight Gang usually forked over whatever munny they had left and pitched in to buy four bars of ice cream, the only flavor that they all liked almost equally—sea salt flavored. They'd sit and talk and hurry and finish their icy treats before it slipped off of the stick and fell to the ground or dripped into their hands and made their fingers sticky. He knew that was heaven, that was perfection; sitting with friends, sharing a moment to laugh at memories made together. What he didn't know was that soon, oh too soon, those memories of ice cream filled evenings with friends who didn't even remember him anymore where what he would treasure for the rest of his life.

_3_

And in his dreams, he saw three kids who looked his age or younger—he couldn't tell. There was a girl with red hair and a bossy attitude, a boy with silver-white hair who he deemed had an obvious superiority complex, and another boy with spiky brown hair who seemed carefree and lazy and so happy-go-lucky that it made him almost insane with jealously. They were close, he knew, and he watched silently and enviously as they built a rickety raft that they hoped would take them away from their boring lives. _He_ wanted friends like that, he thought maliciously, and stopped. He _did_ have friends like that, duh—Hayner, Pence, Olette. _Hayner… Pence… Olette…_ they were his _friends_. He knew that. What he didn't know that they wouldn't be his friends for much longer.

_2_

And he saw him, and he realized that he heart was no longer _his_—it was all Sora's. Every bit of him, his walk, his laugh, his smile, his frown, his reactions… it was all because of the half of heart he held within himself and he realized that it wasn't even really him—there was no him. He just couldn't accept that—he couldn't. "No," he shouted. "_My_ heart belongs to _me_. _My heart belongs to me_!" He wanted to believe that, believe it with all of his heart. But he couldn't. He didn't _have_ all of a heart, only half. It was also simple math; two halves of one thing always made a whole. What he didn't know, but soon dawned on him, was that the half he held wasn't going to belong to him anymore, and soon the statement he'd only just cried would be invalid.

_1_

And finally, he knew. It all came flooding back to him and he _knew_, damnit, but he didn't want it to end. Not like that. He wanted more time, wanted more memories with the people who didn't _see_ or _hear_ or _feel_ or even _know_ him anymore. He wanted to stay, oh, he didn't want anything more than to stay and have them _remember_ him and _know_ him and _love_ him, computer simulation or not. He wanted to stay and create one last memory with them, but he knew deep in his "heart" that it was impossible now—it was time to go. He knew that and he didn't know that. He believed that and he didn't believe that. And so, as he looked down at himself disappearing into his Other, he smiled sadly and accepted it.

_0_

"You're lucky, Sora. It looks like my summer vacation is… over."

* * *

**n o t e** ;; 11, 10, and 9 are complete and utter crap. 6 is my least favorite and 3, 2, 1 and 0 in succession are the ones I like the most. Meh. I took me almost a month to write this. I don't like Roxas very much…

8 June 2008, 2.54 pm


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